


Prince of Gotham

by ruituh



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruituh/pseuds/ruituh
Summary: The rulers of the kingdom were at the top of the long list of things that Jason hated.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written or posted anything in a couple of years so I apologize if I'm a bit rusty. This was just a random idea I had because everyone is always calling Dick the Prince of Gotham, and I sort of just ran with it. Keep in mind that I'm the only one who has read this over, so sorry in advance for any and all mistakes. Thanks for reading!

 

 

As flawed and worn as it is, Gotham is Jason’s home. He is not the sentimental type, despite what Roy Harper might have to say, but he felt some sort of twisted obligation towards the city that both made and broke him. It was becoming a real pain in his ass.

 Although a major power, and beautiful in its own right, Gotham has come to infamy for certain parts of the Kingdom—the parts where Jason was raised in. While some streets thrive, and Gotham is becoming more lucrative by the day, the money is stratified. The rich only get richer, bellies as full as their pockets, and the poor end up losing more and more of the nothing that they have.

Jason has had his shares of cold nights under Gotham rain, stomach growling along with him, filled with heavy hatred for those in power. He hates how they seem to have no problem sleeping knowing the state of the Kingdom. Even when he had his own bed, it was hard to sleep living where horror stories all ended up being true. Evil was truly always lurking in the corners, waiting to turn hungry kids into petty thieves, into murderers. He grew up more used to hearing the sounds of distant gun shots than fireworks.

There are people in masks who try to fix the city, one thief at a time, and as a knight Jason does much of the same. Turns the worst of the bunch, the rapist and murders, in to the government (he beats some sense into them too, though there is no redeeming ‘em as far as Jason is concerned). But with the amount of corruption and the skill of organized crime, they could walk away with nothing more than a slap on the wrists, or escape once imprisoned. The biggest problem was in the system.  

That is why Jason is here of all places, at the lavish palace gates, heavy bullet proof armor under his clothes like a second skin, the royal family’s insignia adorning his chest. Jason always did keep his hatred close to his heart, and let it drive him forward.

It had happened fast. Quicker than even he had anticipated. But of course, when the royal family heard of a knight so deadly, so skilled, that word of mouth spread like wildfire in the drylands, it came to their attention. They had to pluck him from the streets where he could be of more use, protecting the public who were the very heart and core of Gotham, and take him to guard the royal family. Typical. Jason would be spiteful if this wasn’t where he wanted to be. In the crux of the system where he can finally take action into his own hands.

He straightens his posture as the large, dark, shadowed doors come to a slow open. He can’t help but wonder why every damn thing in the kingdom had to be so ominous. Was it a part of the building plan?

The tall doors reveal a man, older than his father’s age, with tired yet kind eyes. “Master Todd, I presume?”

“You presume right,” he affirms, rubbing at his elbow uncomfortably. “But I ain’t anyone’s master, sir. You can call me Jason—I’m just a knight.”

“Oh, were you? I had thought your armory was merely ornamental,” the man responds, his polite voice a respectful monotone, but words obviously mocking.

Without realizing it, he relaxed his tense posture, “the decoration value is just a welcome side effect. What was your name again?”

“Alfred. You may enter. His Royal Highness, Master Richard is expecting your arrival.” _Master_ Richard. Prince Richard the second, who is next in line for the throne after the acting king. Pacifists who are letting the kingdom rot to hell, the both of them.  He is one of the main targets in Jason’s operation.

He follows after Alfred, lucky that the man’s back was to him, since he’s sure the grin he’s wearing is absolutely menacing. He’s shocked with how easy this has all been (and also quite suspicious because Jason has learned early on never to trust something that came too easy). There aren’t any metal detectors, or guards, or any of the things he imagines when he thinks about a palace. The building really is huge though, halls seeming to stretch on endlessly, like if he kept walking he could reach all the way down to Bludhaven.

“After you, master Jason,” Alfred gestures to an open door. Jason doesn’t bother correcting him on calling him master again, because at least he got the Jason part right, and walks in. He notices the butler, Alfred, doesn’t walk in himself.

 Jason expects to be led to an office, or some sort of royal summoning room. Hell, Jason doesn’t know where royals met their _loyal_ subjects, but he didn’t expect to be met in some sort of training room. He supposes it makes sense, if they are going to assess his physical prowess before hiring him. After all, talk is cheap, and from the state of the training equipment and decor, Jason knows these people don’t do cheap.

The room isn’t the biggest surprise, but the man in the middle, walking around on his hands with practiced ease. Jason has seen people walk with their _feet_ less gracefully than that. Jason stands there for a moment, not quite sure what to say or do before the man notices him.

The man makes a sort of apologetic sound, clearing his throat before stepping over to land on his feet. “Didn’t notice you walk in there,” the man says, hand rubbing against the back of his neck, rolling his head from side to side. “You’re pretty light on your feet for a guy in combat boots,” he adds lightly.

Instantly, Jason knows that it’s him. If his face didn’t give his identity away, it was definitely his body. He has broad shoulders but lithe muscles, and much like the many of the pictures taken of him, he isn’t wearing anything from the waist up. Jason half wonders whether he’s allergic to shirts or something.

It is strange how the man has the face of a stranger, but at the same time is filled with familiarity. It is the man who is on the cover of every magazine, and the talk of every entertainment channel. From SNL skits where people would faint any time he passed by due to his immense beauty and ample backside, and tabloids about his numerous makeups and breakups. The prince who is more famous for being a bachelor than for his accomplishments. Jason hates him and wants to tell him how crap he is at his job.

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Richard,” he says instead, words like lava in his mouth, forcing them out through charred teeth. “I’m Jason Todd.”

“Oh I know who you are, but please call me Dick.” Oh, Jason won’t have any trouble calling him that. “Richard is my late grandfather’s name. Is it alright if I just called you Jason? Formal talk puts me to sleep.” Jason wants to put him to sleep. Permanently. He smiles politely.

“You can call me whatever you’d like, you’re the prince after all,” Jason responds, words still tasting like ash, but he didn’t mean for them to come off so bitter.

Prince Dickface frowns, and Jason watches with morbid fascination, because it is like watching moving art as the prince changes his expressions. It’s kind of creepy. Like if a cartoon character came to life. It was easy to look at him on his television screen and forget that he was a real person. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it though? If you really wanted, you could decree my name illegal, and then what?” Shit, fuck, shit, why could he never shut his loud mouth? This is why he used to get low marks for behavior in grade school. This is the goddamned prince, he should be trying to get on his good side and gain his trust before eventually stabbing him in the back. He was always skipping steps and jumping the gun.

“I suppose I could,” the prince laughed, and Jason isn’t sure if it is because he thought Jason was joking, or if turning things into jokes is his method of alleviating tension. Either way, he’s relieved his cover isn’t blown. This obsession with the royal family of his is making him sloppy, and Jason doesn’t do sloppy. He worked off of emotions and instinct, and in action it is a strength rather than a vice, but this is a strategy game. “But I don’t really own your name, or your body, or anyone else’s. That’s not what the title means. Do you know why we’ve summoned you, Jason?” The prince asks, hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his head.

“I have a pretty good idea,” Jason responds. “You need a body guard, right? I heard there was an opening or something.”

“Or something,” the prince smiles evasively. “But yeah that’s the gist of it. I’ve seen what you do for people on the streets. I need someone like that—someone with a heart.”

“If you’ve seen what I do on the streets, then you see what I can do to people,” Jason ventures, unable to read the prince in the slightest. He needs to gauge him and see where he stands. “Sometimes I have to do what I have to do to keep people safe, even if it’s not what your laws would call the right thing. Can you stomach that and still say I’m someone with a good heart, Prince Richard?”

“Dick,” he corrects again.

“What?”

“My name is Dick.”

“Does that matter?” Jason asks incredulously.

“It matters, because I need someone I can trust. Someone I can get on the same level with. I don’t agree with your methods, but I trust you,” Jason has to repress the manic laughter bubbling within him at that. Oh fuck, the prince wasn’t just a pacifist, but he was a naïve fool too. It was almost too much. “You’re genuine in doing what you think is best, but you’re quite capable and I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen how you can get when it becomes to personal, when someone hurts someone too helpless for you to bear. In many cases where you break bones, you could have captured them with nothing more than bruises. Others might not be able to, but you, you’re skilled enough. In times where you’ve given them a warning bullet wound, it was in spite, rather than fear for your life. You don’t have to go to such extremes. Times where you—“ he swallows. “anyways, you have so much potential. You just need to start thinking about the big picture.” Jason could not think of a better example of irony if he tried.

“And this big picture starts with me picking up this gig?”

“It could,” Dick says, taking a step forward and placing a hand heavily on Jason’s shoulder. Jason swallows thickly and does his best not to tense up at the contact. “I just have a feeling about you. Like you could change things.”

“I hope you’re right about that,” Jason exhales, eyes trailing the hand on his shoulder to the body it was attached to. He has an inch or two on the prince, and is a bit more wideset than him, but they are about the same size overall. The prince is all lean muscle, solid and toned in such a classic way. Most of the other princes in the public eye were either stockier than the prince or have allowed their leisurely lifestyles to let themselves go in the fitness department. Jason feels like a middle school boy in the locker room, unable to help but compare himself and his body to the other kids. He doesn’t even notice as a few long awkward seconds pass while his eyes trailed back up the other man’s chest to the prince’s expression which was half part cocky and half unsure.

“Enjoy the view?” the words fall from the prince’s mouth too easily, something like a rehearsed line.

“Thoroughly,” Jason says, smirking, not quite sure what he was doing borderline flirting with the prince of his entire kingdom. “To be honest, I’ve always thought you were photoshopped.”

The prince looks amused and pleased with himself. Jason feels like he has to reevaluate his own intentions as he feels a smile unconsciously make its way onto his face. This wasn’t part of the grand revenge/coup d’état/one-man-revolution plan. Anything beyond hating the stupid prince was not part of the itinerary and it just complicated things. He couldn’t. Fuck, Harper was right, he is a big fat softy.

Something then catches his eye. Something that he has never noticed before—not that he thoroughly examines the prince’s magazine covers by his bedside table or something. “Or maybe you _are_ photoshopped?” he says distractedly, hand reaching out towards a long pale scar that crossed diagonally over the side of his abdomen, almost lost by the dull lighting of the room. The prince catches the hand before it can graze his flesh, eyes looking sharper than they had the entire conversation, and Jason can instantly tell there is so much more to the man than he lets on. There is a flash of a secret, and maybe a bit of a temper too. He had a hunch before but he is sure of it now. Not so much that the man was being completely unauthentic, but there is so much more to the bumbling prince than meets the eye. But just as suddenly as it comes the look is gone, and so is the hand and the prince altogether, who takes a step back and tries to put distance between them as casually as he can.

“Sorry,” the prince says, and he sounds so much more apologetic than the situation called for, which just draws more attention to it.

“It’s fine, you said something about you not owning my name or body. Well although you belong to the kingdom as prince, your body is your own.”

The smile the prince gives him in return is so unadulteratedly genuine that it made something inside Jason ache. He wanted the prince to be someone evil who did not care about their people. Someone lazy and greedy and unkind. Someone who deserved Jason’s blade to his neck, but this man… Jason was not sure that this was his villain to target.

“You shouldn’t go around trusting people,” Jason says, unable to stop himself. He caught the prince’s eyes in a stare, slate eyes locked into his bright blue ones. “It’s Gotham. There are some good people out there with bad intentions, and bad people out there with good intentions. You never know who you’re talking to.”

The prince is quiet for a long moment. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m a pretty careful man, Jason. Or are you admitting to something?”

“Nothing to admit to.” Yet.

“Great then, so what do you say? Do you want the job?” Prince Dick was doing this thing, where he pushed all the weight to his toes, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, what the hell. Where do I apply?” he says, almost as if there was any question as to what his answer would be.

“Well let’s skip the resume and interview and skip straight to the assessment. I'm a busy man, y'know. I just want to see how good you are up close.”

“Yeah? And how is that?”

Prince Dick changes his stance with a playful smile on his face. “Fight me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading despite the super short chapter! Hopefully I'll churn out the next one before the end of the week. I would appreciate any and all feedback.


End file.
